


Heart of the Flame

by Keltara



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Conflict, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keltara/pseuds/Keltara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Demacian Spring Celebration grows ever closer, Shyvana is conflicted with her feelings toward the Exemplar of Demacia and The Prodigal Explorer. Meanwhile, the tension between Demacia and Noxus grows and some fear another Rune War is on the horizon. Dark rumors spread of Jericho Swain rising to the rank of Grand General after the assassination of  Boram Darkwill--with two devious brothers that guard his back.</p><p>(Btw this is pretty much dead tbh and I'll prob never finish it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Beginning  [The Past, Part 1]

**Author's Note:**

> Please note some things before reading:
> 
> This is a revised version of the current 'Heart of the Flame' which can be found here (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8317479/1/Heart-of-the-Flame). The one on fanfiction.net will be undergoing this new change once I have completed more chapters. I would ask that you would please be kind if you see any mistakes, I am open to constructive criticism but I do not like it when it is done rudely. 
> 
> I am still new to the world of fanfiction, and as such I am afraid of how far I can go when I write certain things. I try to keep the characters as original as possible, but Riot Games doesn't exactly go into deep detail about some of their champions. Some of these characters may not seem like themselves to you, and that is because I have added my own style to it. Shyvana is a little similar to the 'half-dragon' (She's not -exactly- a half-dragon, it's difficult to explain) that is the main character of my novel-in-progress that has been in the works for a few years now. I found that I could use some of her personality with Shyvana, mainly with trying to control her dragon blood. I choose to portray Jarvan IV as someone who is commanding on the outside, but on the inside is quite warm and loving. I portray Ezreal as someone who is friendly and outgoing, and of course has deep interests in unique things. 
> 
> Shyvana's appearance is based off her Ironscale Skin in this fic with a few adjustments. Since she is a half-dragon, I always imagined that she should have some dragon-like features present even in her 'human' form. People are suppose to be wary of her, but I can't really see that if she appears so shockingly human at least appearance wise. I feel what I have done helps with her character. She's also based off both of her lores in this story, so if you haven't read them I would suggest you do so.
> 
> Lastly, Riot Games doesn't say much about the city-states. I have chosen to write about Demacia being militaristic, of course, but also having time for fun once and awhile despite the constant conflict with Noxus and what-not.
> 
> Please, do enjoy.

Smoke wafted from my nose and filled my lungs.

I glided over my once childhood home, the village that I had been born and raised from. When I was young, it had been simple and worn, but there had never been a shortage of friends when you needed it. I recall Mother telling me how kind the villagers were to her when I was born, offering to help take care of my infant-self. They had believed I was human then—just another child that would grow into a hard working citizen.

That was long ago.

That was before Father had been killed and before Mother had shortly joined him in wherever those who died went. When the breath of life had still flowed in and out of their bodies. Life hadn't been easy in my youth, but I had been happy. Father's blood was hard to control, and often times my emotions ran wild, but he was always there to help me.

And then he was gone, taken harshly away from me by the mysterious dragon that had wanted me dead. He couldn't reach me so he had gone for the next best thing—Father. He had killed Father because of what he had done, the silent rule that had been broken. Courting with mortals was to never be done, but Father had done it because he had loved Mother. He hadn't cared if she was mortal or dragon, all he had was love.

For a moment, I lose my focus on my flight. I dip downward momentarily before pulling back up, ignoring the sounds from below.

I missed Mother almost as much as I missed Father. She had been smothering, always worrying about me going out alone. Father said I needed to be by myself sometimes—I was still a child after all, and I needed time to ponder things such as why the sky was blue, and why some flowers only opened their petals at dusk.

Shouts of dismay could be heard from below.

I shook my head slowly, the smoke of my building fire surrounding me in a gray cloud. I descended toward the ground, my wing beats echoing loudly in my ears. My stray thoughts slowly fading to the back of mind, replaced by the anger that was coursing through my veins. This had been my home, but this had also been the home that had driven me out.

As I neared one of the buildings I saw a small child looking up at me in awe. There was no fear in his eyes, only wonderment. The human side of me begged me to turn back, to spare this child—but the dragon side would not have it. Before I knew it, I was opening my mouth and releasing the fire that had been building within.

–---

“My Lord!”

The anxious voice of Lieutenant Barluf caused Jarvan IV to pull back on the reins of his stallion. The beast snorted in annoyance, but obeyed the commands of its rider, coming to a stop. The stallion was the color of midnight black, adorned in heavy golden armor. Its rider was dressed similarly, holding a giant lance in his gloved hands.

Jarvan IV, Prince of Demacia, was on the mission to slay a dragon.

A small group of warriors followed him on steeds that were also armored, along with a second group that consisted of archers. Their beasts nickered uneasily at the sudden stop, as if they could sense the danger.

Jarvan looked down at Barluf, who was a very short man. He was not to be taken for his size though, he was a seasoned veteran and had seen as many battles as Jarvan, if not more. His face was twisted into a look of uneasiness. Jarvan frowned, “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Our scout says we should ride with utter haste,” Barluf frowned, a coat of sweat visible on his face. “He says the dragon is setting everything aflame.”

“Then we ride,” Jarvan said, loud enough for the two groups to hear. They did not move at first, unsure if the prince meant the words as a command. Louder, “Did you not hear me? I said we ride!”

Murmurs of excitement passed from one person to the next as the two groups urged their beasts forward. Jarvan rode beside Barluf, who sat upon his chestnut mare. Barluf's eyes were trained forward, deliberately avoiding the prince's gaze. Jarvan patted the elder man's back.

“Scared of dragons?”

Barluf frowned, staring up at the prince. “No, my Lord,” He peered up at the sky for a moment, as if he were expecting the dragon to appear at any moment. “I'm just wondering if our small band is enough against an angry dragon.”

“It will be enough,” Jarvan said firmly. “Have faith, Barluf.”

The elder man nodded, still frowning, but willing to trust his prince.

Jarvan silently wondered what had brought on the attack on the village, and by a dragon of all things. Their hadn't been reports of one attacking one without provocation in a long time. The village wasn't one he knew well, it's name was vaguely familiar. Jarvan thought he remembered a report of some hunters that had found the corpse of a dead dragon while tracking some deer. They had took the dragon apart and sold what they could for a nice amount of coin.

“Barluf? This village was the one that found the corpse of a dragon, wasn't it?”

Barluf didn't respond at first, his eyebrows furrowing as if he were trying to remember. They sat in silence as their horses galloped at a speedy pace, the sound of the beasts' hooves beating against the path echoing in their ears and the surrounding area. The pathway was deserted of any travels, which was strange considering the time of year.

“It was,” Barluf said finally. “They found the corpse not long after they drove out a half-dragon child.”  


“A half-dragon?” Jarvan asked in disbelief, his eyes widening. He had heard stories of such things—the children of mortal and dragons—but hadn't known that any had managed to live long after birth. The stories he had heard included that the child was usually murdered by another dragon, they were considered a taboo.

“Yes, my Lord. Apparently the child's mother grew sick and passed away. The villagers grew afraid of what the child might become. They chased her out, figuring that she wouldn't survive on her own.”

Jarvan grunted, offering no further response. Did his people really do this? Chase away an innocent girl out of fear what she would become? She was different, yes—but unique. Jarvan's mind couldn't comprehend why anyone would even do such a thing. The girl might have had dragon blood, but she was still human. Had they forgotten?

 _Because of fear of the unknown._ A voice whispered in his mind. _People fear what they cannot control._

Jarvan frowned, urging his steed to run faster.

 

\----

“My Lord! The sky!”

Jarvan looked up, spotting what one of his men had been shouting about. Circling above the village was a magnificent red dragon, whose scales sparkled under the rays of the high noon sun. It flew lazily, with a foreign grace that fascinated the prince. Jarvan was awed by the creature, ignoring the fact for a moment that buildings were aflame. He had seen a few dragons in his lifetime, but none of them looked as bright as this one.

For a moment, he was a moth and the dragon was the flame.

And that moment shattered as the dragon set it's sights on an unharmed building. It roared, ripping through the air with great purpose as a cloud of smoke followed in the creature's wake. It opened its maw, releasing a torrent of flame that covered the house in a fiery blanket. Screams erupted from the terrified villagers, who were confused on where to go to acquire safety.

The dragon seemed content to stay in the air for now, watching over the buildings it had set aflame. One of the archers from the second group brought his steed next to Jarvan's. He looked young, a boy of maybe fifteen. “My Lord, what would you have us do?”

 _So young_. He thought. “Have your arrows ready, I want you all to shoot when the dragon's belly is exposed. A dragon's scales are very hard, but its belly is not as armored as the rest of it.”

The boy nodded, eager to please his prince. He pulled on the reins of his steed, leading it back to the second group. He spoke fast, causing some of the men to look confused. They didn't understand what he was saying until he repeated it for them, more slowly.

The archers readied themselves, nocking an arrow to their bowstrings. They watched the dragon's movements with the eyes of a hawk, waiting for it to expose it's soft underbelly. The dragon continued to fly straight at first, glancing at the sky and to the ground. It didn't seem to notice Jarvan and his men. Yet.

Finally, it veered to the left, exposing it's underbelly. It's wings seemed to block out the sun, a large shadow falling over the two groups. The men took in a sharp intake of breath as the archers drew back the strings, preparing to let their arrows fly lose.

One of the archers raised his hand in the air, indicating that the other archers should take pause before shooting. He waited a moment, seeing if the dragon would return to it's original position. It didn't. He brought his hand down in an arc, yelling, “Fire!”

The archers let the bowstrings loose, the arrows whizzing through the air with deadly silence. At the last moment, the dragon turned—but not before a few arrows buried into the soft flesh. The rest bounced off it's rock-hard scales.

It roared in both pain and anger, swerving its head in their direction. Jarvan could see the fury in its eyes and imagined the creature could burn him to ashes with that malicious stare if it wanted to.

The first group unsheathed their weapons—maces, swords, and axes—while the second group prepared another round of arrows that would most likely be useless, unless they managed to hit the dragon's eye or a more softer part. Jarvan doubted they knew the other weak-points, and there was no time to educate them. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He chanted.

He readied his lance, sliding off his horse that was more than eager to trot away from the danger. He stepped forward, meeting the dragon's death glare as it flew closer and closer. The sounds around him melted away, it was only him and this creature.

Jarvan could see something else in the dragon's eyes, but he wasn't sure what. Pain? Pain over what? It couldn't possibly feel guilty for what it was doing, could it? It was eager to meet him as it flew closer and he realized what was in the dragon's eyes when it was almost on top of him.

The dragon wanted to die.

\----

My way out. I could see it.

The dragon blood within me cried out, urged me to let all who dare oppose me feel my wrath. I fought it as best as I could, willing myself to fly straight when I heard the Demacian warriors arrive on their armored steeds. My human-half wrested with my dragon-half, but the dragon-half was winning. It always did.

Father once told me how to control my emotions, and to keep the dragon at bay until I most needed it. I could barely remember that now, knowing it required great focus and patience to aid my human-half in calming the dragon-half. I could feel the human part of me weep for the old me, the Shyvana that was able to almost keep herself together. I wished I could go back to that life, to have Father's help in controlling my blood.

I had lived too long letting the dragon-half rule. If I continued like this, I would only be the dragon. My human-half would be swallowed whole forever, and I would never be able to be human again. I almost laughed. I was never human to begin with, no matter how much I tried.

In the corner of my eye I saw some of the Demacians readying their arrows. I grunted in satisfaction, flying straight for a few more moments before I banked to the left. I exposed my underbelly to them, knowing they would shoot.

I could hear the arrows fly through the air. I turned at the last moment, my dragon-half screaming at me to not appear like a weakling. I could feel three of the arrows sink into my flesh—my human-half roared in agony, while my dragon-half roared in fury. I twisted my head back and forth, trying to get a good look at my wound before I settled my eyes on the Demacians.

Their leader—I assumed he was their leader, he held himself with pride—kept his eyes on me as I flew toward him. They looked at me in a mix of wonder and horror and for a moment I wondered if he could look past what I really was, if he could know me as the controlled Shyvana and not the crazed one.

I would never get that chance. I knew I was going to die.

\----

Jarvan threw his lance when the dragon was above him.

It hit the dragon's belly with dead accuracy and the creature's cry made his ears hurt. It flapped it's wings once, twice, three times—and folded it's wings against it's body, crashing into the ground with a loud thump. The spear embedded itself deeper into the dragon, blood pooling around the body. The red of the blood matched it's scales, Jarvan noticed.

The two groups looked at the dragon in surprise, wondering why it had fallen so easily. Jarvan approached the dragon—whose breathing was labored, it's chest moving up and down quickly. It stared up at him with wide-eyes, that were filled with a sense of sadness.

Jarvan knelt next to the dragon's head. It turned it's head to get a better look at him. “Finish it..” The dragon rasped, it sounded female.

Jarvan didn't respond. He placed his hand on the dragon's forehead. He could feel the heat through his gloved hands and winced, but did not remove his hand. He stroked the dragon's head.

She began to grow smaller, shrinking before his eyes. He pulled his hand back in surprise. Suddenly, where once a giant dragon was dying, there was now a human girl with a lance through her stomach. Her hair was a tangled mess and her cheeks were flushed, two large horns rose from her head.

She was completely naked.

He averted his eyes slightly, blushing, then shaking his head. The girl was dying, he doubted she cared about if she was dressed or not. He shouldn't either. He made sure to keep his eyes on her face, not trailing down to her more...feminine parts.

“You're the half-dragon.” He murmured, placing his hand on her forehead again. He stroked her skin, though he could not feel it.

“Please...” She rasped. “Please...kill me.”

He looked into her eyes and saw some of himself reflected there. She was someone that was different, someone that desperately wished that she could be like everyone else. Jarvan sometimes wanted that—sometimes so bad it would keep him awake at night. He loved his people and would do anything for them, but sometimes he wished that he could live the normal life his people lived. He did not have many true friends, most of them only being kind out of respect for his status. Not for who he truly was.

Jarvan wanted to save this girl and help her. There wasn't much of a chance she'd be well loved back at home, but he would be her friend if she wanted. He would show her that she didn't need to be alone in the world. He didn't want her to feel like she'd never fit in, like he did.

“No,” He said firmly. He glanced at the lance still sticking in her stomach and frowned. If she had a chance at living, she needed help and _now._ “Fetch a healer!” He yelled.

“My Lord?” Someone asked in disbelief.

“Did I stutter?” Jarvan said angrily. “Go! NOW!”

When Jarvan turned to look back at the half-dragon girl, she was looking up at him in wonder. Her mouth was curved into a small 'o' and her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“I won't let you die,” Jarvan said firmly, stroking her tangled hair. “I promise.”


	2. Awakening [The Past, Part 2]

_Darkness._

 

_That was all there was, along with a chill that froze me core. No fire bloomed inside of me, waiting to be released in a whirlwind of colors. I imagined how it would look in this environment, the deep reds mixing with the yellows and oranges. The fire would banish the nightmarish chill from my blood, and wrap me in it's warm embrace. The inky blackness would disappear, replaced with light and dancing shadows._

 

_Except I could not summon my fire. In fact, the dragon blood was silent. My darker half did not whisper to me, tempting me to perform heinous acts that threatened to shatter my sanity. It always tried to assure me with dark promises that I would be happy, and all the lives I snuffed would lead to my eternal comfort. If only I followed its lead, it would all be over soon._

 

_Well now it was over._

 

 _I knew I was dead, I could_ feel _it. There was no way I wasn't. There was no spirit of life within me. I was hollow, a shell of my former self. The only good that came of this solitude was that I could consider myself 'normal'. I would no longer have to fall to my knees and scream, fighting with my dragon-half to stay 'human'. I would no longer have to feel my human-half crying as it was almost completely swallowed whole by the madness. I would no longer have to hate everything I had become, and wonder what Father would think of me._

 

_Father._

 

_I could feel the ache in my hollow chest like a physical punch. I choked on a sob, feeling chilly tears wet my face. Father had dealt with my childhood tantrums, and the times when I had been so angry I struck out at anyone and anything around me. He had taught me to the best of his ability to control my dragon blood, and I had thrown away those lessons when he died. I imagined he was turning in his grave, greatly disappointed in what his daughter had become._

 

_I missed him. It was his murder—and mother's sickness—that drove me to the darkest part of my life. The loss of one parent had caused unbearable grief. The loss of two? That had thrown me over the ledge. Perhaps I could have led a different life if those that had surrounded me since birth hadn't thrown me to the wolves. Forced solitude and grief had led me to dance on the edge of madness._

 

_Some would say it was the villagers that had brought my attack upon themselves. That would be something my darker-half would try to convince me to believe. There was no one to blame but myself. They had abandoned me, but I had abandoned all of Father's teachings. If I had focused and not lost my way, I could have lived my life in a shaky peace. Perhaps I could have even learned to fully tame the dragon-half._

 

_I fell to my knees, my fingers digging into the flesh of my legs. I felt no pain from the action. I was hollow, I had to remember that now. When the dragon had been in control, I had never needed companionship. The darker-half had assured me it was all that I needed. Now I would wander this dark prison as a spectre, mulling over the things I had done in life until I went mad with loneliness._

 

_I didn't notice it at first. I was so consumed in the silence that the soft whisper went almost unnoticed to my whirling mind. My breathing quickened, and I could feel a weak heartbeat in my chest. Heat rushed into my body, and a fire burned weakly within my core._

 

_Not hollow. Not hollow. Not hollow._

 

_The whisper grew louder. I tilted my head, straining my ears to listen. It sounded like nothing at first, just incessant drivel. I frowned, disappointment flowing through me. Was this my eternal torment? To feel how I felt in life before I was frozen cold once more? My breathing paused at the thought of such horror..._

 

_“Shyvana,” The whispering voice rasped._

 

_I blinked, staring into the darkness long and hard. I could see nothing, no hints of where the voice originated from. It's whispering came from all around me, surrounding me in a wall of jumbled words. I turned my head left and right, trying to get a grip on my damaged mind. If I let myself get lost in the voice's words, I would just as easily fall to madness as I would by the dragon._

 

_“Shyvana.” The voice was louder this time, accompanied by the voices of others that were only background noise. The voice that spoke my name sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't conjure a face to match the deep, masculine speech. I wracked my mind for who the words could belong to, I hadn't know many males in my life._

 

_Suddenly it all made sense._

 

_I felt his presence—faintly—but it was enough. A childhood memory surfaced, one that I could hardly believe I had forgotten. He stood over my younger self, seeming more like a giant than a person. His light brown hair shined in the hot summer day, the sun's rays bringing out coppery highlights in the brushed back locks. His red-black eyes stared down at me, a smile playing on his lips._

 

_My younger self looked up at him, grinning madly. I raised my arms upward, demanding with my eyes for him to pick me up. He obliged, hoisting me up in his arms and holding me toward the sky. I could feel the hot wind caress my skin, the smell of summer flowers following the breeze. I imagined myself as the dragon, cutting the wind currents with leathery wings that would lift me as high I as wanted._

 

_Later, Mother would yell at us. She would tell Father to not encourage me to embrace the dragon. I was young then, the blood hadn't effected me yet. Father would always promise her he would stop, but never turned me away when I wished to be shown what I would be able to do one day. Back then, he was sure he could help me reign my dragon-half. With his help I did, for awhile._

 

_The memory shattered. I cried out, reaching out for the fading image of my father. All I could see was the darkness of the prison again. I screamed at the voices surrounding me, “What do you want? What do you want?!”_

 

_“Shyvana,” Father said softly. I could imagine him wrapping his strong arms around me in a hug, like he used to when I had a nightmare or was afraid. I was afraid now. Afraid of what would become of me, afraid of losing my mind._

 

_“You must go Shyvana,” Father said. “You do not belong here.”_

 

_“Daddy,” I whispered harshly. “Daddy...you don't belong here either.”_

 

_I could feel myself being pushed and dragged. It was slow at first, then I was being hauled more roughly. I fought against the pull to no avail, feeling the presence of my father slowly fading. I screamed for him over and over, but he didn't respond. I was willing to endure the dark prison as long as I had him._

 

_“Wake up, Shyvana,” His voice was faint, I could barely make out his words. “Remember what you once knew.”_

 

_I was lifted into the air. I flailed, screaming and crying for Father not to leave me. His presence disappeared, but I could not feel hollow anymore. My body grew hotter and hotter as the fire within my core blazed. I clawed at my flesh, it felt like it would melt off. I was burning...burning from the inside._

 

_Not hollow. Not hollow. Not hollow._

 

_\----_

 

There was no feeling of being dragged, and no multitude of voices that whispered to me hurriedly. I was no longer in the dark prison, and no longer with Father. I wasn't dead, I was _alive._

 

_Just a dream._ I chanted. _Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream._

 

Or was it?

I could still feel the heat from my fire. It wasn't as hot as it had been in the prison, it was cooling now—laying dormant until I summoned it forward—but what of my dragon-half? I felt none of its desires, I heard no dark thoughts that compelled me to spill the blood of innocents; no immediate physical changes, such as scaly skin, or a tail. I stared down at my fingers that were mostly human, they weren't fully clawed. 

 

_What's going on? Why am I in control?_

 

I couldn't remember a time after Father and Mother died that I could stay human for more than five minutes. Here I was, laying down in a bed that barely had room for me to move, and I was _human—_ besides the obvious physical differences. I bent my arms and stretched my legs, letting out a sigh of relief. It felt nice being in my human shell after so long.

 

I observed my surroundings with mild curiosity. I was in an infirmary of sorts, I spotted a medicine table that held an assortment of pills and liquids. Bloody bandages filled a rusty, old trashcan that was pushed into a far corner. I glanced down at my stomach, noticing a bandage of the same material covered my wound. _Are all those bandages mine?_

 

My wound. How I almost died was fuzzy, I didn't remember much. I knew I had attacked the village, the darker-half had promised relief from my pain if I had. I only realized what it had intended for me when the Demacian soldiers showed up, and by then I was willing to leave this world for the next. My darker-half still had it's pride, and when they had shot the arrows it had demanded me to change position.

 

If I hadn't, I'd be dead.

 

_What are you playing at?_ I asked it, but it offered no response. 

 

“Oh! You're awake,”

 

My eyes snapped to a woman—a nurse, I assumed by her white outfit—with tanned skin and dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. Her dark eyes assessed me curiously, as if she were expecting me to grow wings and a tail.

 

I almost laughed out loud. _Right._

 

 _“_ Are you feeling alright? Your stomach doesn't hurt does it? No trouble breathing?”

 

My stomach felt fine, almost great. I took in a shaky breath. My breathing wasn't smooth, but that was mostly because of the wound, I guessed. It wasn't like I couldn't breath at all, which is what I assumed she meant.

 

“I-I'm fine,” I responded, trying to keep my voice steady and failing. “No pain. Breathing's fine.”

 

The nurse nodded, obviously satisfied with my response. “I gave you some mild pain medicine, I wasn't sure how you would react to morphine...” She trailed off, studying my face. I understood what she meant. _'You're a half-dragon, I don't know what's going to set you off.'_

 

I nodded, giving her a small smile because that was what I needed to do. I was in a _human_ environment which meant I needed to act human. Acting human meant not scaring the other humans by morphing into a giant dragon. _Stay human._ At least, I hoped I could. No sign of the darker-half. Yet.

 

“I imagine the prince will want to answer any questions you have. If you think you can talk, I'll send for him.”

 

I didn't respond. She seemed to take it as a 'yes' and left the room. _Prince?_ What did she mean by that? Prince of _what?_

 

_'I wont let you die, I promise.'_

 

It all made sense.

 

She had been attacked by Demacians.

 

The man that had thrown the lance had been Jarvan IV.

 

The Prince of Demacia had saved _her from death;_ the someone—something that been attacking and killing his people. 

 

The question was: Why?


	3. Choice [The Past, Part 3]

The day was young, and full of promise.

 

He did not spend it outside though—rather, he watched the citizens of Demacia hurry to their destinations. Some walked slowly, hand-in-hand, and shared a private joke. Others pushed and shoved, with catcalls following in their wake. He smiled to himself as he saw a group of children scarcely avoid being trampled by distracted adults. He could hear their laughs from where he stood, song-like and heart-lifting. 

 

He remembered when he was their age. He had spent his youth romping playfully with the Crownguards, Garen and Luxanna. They had all been very close, inseparable even. All too soon though, Garen and him had come of age. Garen was enlisted into the Demacian army, and he...he had to learn the ways of court and leadership. There had been no more time for games, their childhood had left them in the dead of night. He watched the children longingly. 

 

So lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice her arrival. Her voice seemed to come from every shadow, her words from every abandoned corner of the room. Despite knowing that she would arrive at any moment, he flinched. She chuckled softly at his reaction, peeling herself from the blackness. She was no longer dressed as a nurse, returning to her favored green outfit that was crafted to compliment her fast movements. 

 

“Greetings,” Her voice was soft, but the tone demanded that she should be listened to. “The girl...has woken up.”

 

“Is she alright?” Jarvan hoped his voice didn't portray any of the eagerness he felt at the thought of seeing the mysterious half-dragon alive and well. He was grateful to Akali for coming at such a short notice, the constant—but small—skirmishes with Noxus left their medical resource in Demacia sub-par. Jarvan knew Akali was a skilled nurse, and he needed the best to make sure the half-dragon lived.

 

“She says she is fine, though this may not be true,” Akali glanced to the side, cocking her head. “But I find that I cannot stay any longer. If she worsens, I will come back as soon as I can.”

 

Jarvan nodded. “I understand. Go then, Akali. If you are ever in need, know that you may call upon me. You have done a great service for Demacia on this day.”

 

Akali looked at Jarvan curiously, her eyes conveying that his words confused her slightly. She didn't understan,d why he wanted to save something that had murdered his own citizens. He didn't exactly understand it either, other than acting on the instinct that she might be more than a killer. 

 

Akali bowed her head, “I thank you for your kind words. Perhaps I shall call upon your aid one day. Tread carefully, Jarvan Lightshield.”

 

It was the only warning she dare give him regarding the half-dragon. Jarvan watched in amazement as she took a step backward into the dark spot of the room. Her sleek form melded with the shadows, the two becoming one. He could not hear nor see any sign of her presence, if she decided to stay and observe he would never know.

 

Someone knocked on the door.

 

He didn't move at first, still stunned by Akali's stealthy departure.

 

The knock came louder, more urgent.

 

With a grunt of annoyance, he shook his head and swung open the door. Standing on the other side was someone he hadn't expected to see so soon. He grabbed the knocker by his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “You found something?”

 

“Hey, let go!” Ezreal cried in irritation, managing to shove Jarvan away from him despite the prince's immense size. The Explorer looked like a child when standing before Jarvan; where Jarvan was tall and bulky, Ezreal was of medium height and thin. 

 

“My apologies...” Jarvan said mournfully. “It's just...”

 

“I understand,” Ezreal nodded, gesturing with his hand that Jarvan should follow him. Jarvan trailed after the blond-haired boy in silence while he spoke, “It wasn't easy but, I did manage to find something useful. Fitting, considering what she is and all.”

 

“And what would that be?” Jarvan asked, but Ezreal did not respond. The Explorer grinned to himself as they halted in front of the door to the Armory. It was crafted of oak, worn by years of abuse by armored hands. Ezreal grasped the metal handle with both hands, swinging the door open.

 

“See for yourself.”

 

\---

 

No dreams plagued my sleep.

 

I was strangely torn at that thought, on one hand I yearned to hear the voice of Father again, but on the other hand I feared the thought of ever stepping foot into that dark prison again. In the back of my mind I knew I was being silly, it was only a dream after all. But something within me desperately tried to convince me that it was something more, that I had been on the edge of Life and Death, and Father had been the one to grant me a second chance at life.

 

And the darker-half, who was still strangely absent did not help my confused thoughts and feelings. I had lived almost my entire life with it's constant presence, and I found myself feeling strangely alone without feeling it's cold stare on my actions. I was glad I was in control of my human-half, but being human was so strange to me now. All I knew how to do was be the dragon, how could I play the human girl without messing up? Without surrendering to my blood?

 

My whirring thoughts were interrupted by a door opening and closing. I flinched, as if I were caught doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing. But wasn't I? Every moment I took in a breath, every moment I exhaled—I lived. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be allowed to take another breath, when innocent people were dead by my breath.

 

I looked up at the newcomer, my crimson orbs meeting eyes that were too light to be black, but too dark to be gray. I studied his face; he had a rugged look about him, his mouth set into a thin line, his eyes seemingly narrowed slightly, and white scars that traveled down his neck. My face heated as I realized I was staring, and I quickly averted my gaze to my hands. But when I glanced back up at him, I realized he was studying me as I had studied him.

 

His eyes stayed on my face for a long time, and I wondered if I imagined him admiring the curve of my horns with fascination. His fingers flexed constantly, as if he were holding himself back from touching the anomaly. His gaze then traveled down my body, but it was only for a quick inspection before returning to my face.

 

Neither of us spoke for what seemed like hours. The only sound was his slow, deep breaths, and my quick, pained ones. His eyes still rested on my face and horns, his fingers now curled into a tight fist. Surprising myself, I reached out with surprisingly delicate fingers, prying his fingers out of the curled ball and bringing his hand to rest on my horns.

 

We both took in a sharp intake of breath as his flesh met my horns. He moved his fingers over the black, sleek surface slowly, marveling at how it felt under his fingertips. I bit my lip, shivering at the feel of being physically touched in what seemed like lifetimes; it was strangely painful in a self-tortured way. 

 

“Does...it hurt when I touch you?” He whispered, confusion clouding his eyes. He started to pull his hand back.

 

“N-no,” I responded, my voice a mixture of pain and pleasure, unable to stay steady. “I...I haven't felt a human touch in...a long time.” I missed this, I realized. Missed feeling physical contact between another person. 

 

He stopped pulling his hand back, caressing my horns with calloused fingers. “They're so.. _.soft._ ”

 

I shuddered, nodding slightly in agreement. But then the past collided with this moment, the screams of the innocent. I pushed his hand back, albeit gently, trying to hide my horns from him. Blood. They had been covered in human blood more than once. Innocent, human blood.

 

“Please don't,” I said, guilt tugging at my heart. “They...I...”

 

Worry. Raw emotion, plain on his face. He didn't strike me as someone who would reveal his emotions. Everything about him, his appearance and the way he carried himself, screamed brick wall. He seemed like someone that kept a straight face even through the toughest moments. And yet, he was clearly worried about _me._ Someone who had murdered those villagers without a second thought, and he worried about _me._

 

The thought sent a guilty pleasure through me, along with a stab of regret.

 

“What's wrong?” He frowned at my discomfort, wondering if he had gone too far.

 

“My horns,” I rasped, ignoring the pleasure of having his attention. “Blood...covered in blood.” I couldn't form coherent sentences, couldn't handle the look of shame he would give me once he realized what I was. I didn't think I could handle that, the only person to offer me kindness in so long to suddenly toss me to the dogs, to the citizens of Demacia to do with as they pleased.

 

“No they aren't,” He misunderstood what I said, touching my horns again for good measure and showing me his hands that were smooth and tanned. “They aren't covered in blood, see?” I pushed them away and shook my head, tears threatening to fall.

 

“Why are you being kind?” The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. I didn't often show this much vulnerability, but my human-half was taking it's hold. “I killed...all those people. I killed them without thinking about it. I should be _dead.”_ And I wished I was, I realized. I would have to live with this for the rest of my life, this clawing guilt.

 

_But maybe that's a part of being human._ Something whispered. _Guilt is knowing you've done something wrong. You can't change it, but you can move on from it. It's completely human._

 

Human.

 

For a brief moment, I was human. Piercing guilt and all.

 

“You should be dead,” He agreed, and I couldn't mask the flash of hurt that showed on my face. I secretly hoped he would disagree, hoped he thought I was made for more than mindless killing. But those were childish thoughts, because this man did not _know_ me.

 

Not really.

 

Yet...he had saved. He may have thrown the lance, but had chosen to let me live. Didn't that count for something? That maybe he saw something more? Saw more than the dragon, saw the girl?

 

“A lot of people are angry I let you live,” He continued, his eyes seeming to plead forgiveness for agreeing with my hurtful words. “The only reason there hasn't been an angry mob charging in here is because my citizens trust me, or so I'd like to think,” He frowned at unknown thoughts, and I wondered if he thought his citizens were lying in wait, ready to ambush me when they got the chance.

 

He shook his head in disbelief, brushing a rebellious strand of hair out of my face. “If you asked me why I let you live, I couldn't give you a straight answer. I've asked myself every hour since that day, and I still can't come up with a plausible answer. Something told me not to, so I followed my heart,”

 

I stared up at him in a mix of awe and confusion. It didn't matter that he couldn't give a straight answer as to why he saved my life, it only mattered that he had decided to let me live. I struggled into a sitting position, wincing as I felt my wound protest in the form of a dull ache. He grasped my shoulders lightly, whether to steady me or push back down I didn't know.  
  


I never got to find out.

 

I wrapped my arms around him in an awkward hug. It wasn't easy; he was very tall, and I could barely get my arms around his neck without standing up. He froze, his hands slipping from my shoulders and resting at his side rigidly. I let go quickly, settling into a half sitting and half laying down position. My face heated, embarrassed by the physical contact I had initiated.

 

_But that's what humans do, right?_ I wondered, confused. _I used to hug Father and Mother all the time._

 

“Thanks,” I mumbled, almost too low for him to hear me. “For saving me, I mean.”

 

He reached out to caress my face, lifting my head to meet his gaze. His fingers lingered at my cheek, dancing across the surface of my flesh. I hissed in air through my clenched teeth, staring up at his unblinking eyes. We stayed that way for a moment, just staring at each other in pure wonderment.

 

His lips curled into a small smile. “Can you walk?”

 

The question was unexpected. I blinked in confusion, staring at him for a few moments more before processing his words. “Walk?”

 

“You know, put on leg forward, than the other...”

 

I snorted. “I know how to _walk.”_ At least, I hoped I still did.

 

“But I asked if you could manage to walk,” He grinned widely now, his voice barely containing laughter.

 

Instead of answering, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Gripping the bed sheets with my hands, I slowly lowered myself to the ground, shivering when my bare feet met the cold floor. I took a hesitant step away from the bed, smirking triumphantly when I only wobbled slightly. 

 

He eyed me suspiciously, “Try walking to the door now,” 

 

I rolled my eyes, taking a step forward toward the door...

 

I shrieked as I lost my footing, closing my eyes and holding my hands out in front of me to break my fall.

 

Strong arms wrapped themselves around me, hugging me close. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. Warm breath tickled the back of my neck. A sound of surprise escaped my lips; my body grew tense. Jarvan tightened his hold before letting me go, his hands lingering on my arms as I straightened. 

 

“Watch your step.” He grunted. There was no trace of humor now. His voice seemed to rise an octave. 

 

I gave him a slight, shaky nod. My skin burned where he touched, his fingers lightly tracing a trail of fire in no particular pattern. Both of us froze, unsure of how to react to the other. Finally, I stepped away from him shyly; the absence of his touch left me feeling very cold inside.

 

“I'm sorry.” I said, but I did not know what those words meant. _Sorry for what? Killing your citizens? For still drawing breath when others were breathless? For taking comfort in your touch? For wanting you to hold me, even now?_ I looked away from him; at the wall, at the ceiling, at _anything_ but him.

 

His fingers lightly touched my cheek, turning my gaze toward him. “Do not say sorry,” He said softly. He looked at me with those eyes that for a moment were unguarded and open for me to read. In a way he understood me. _He's lonely._ I realized. _He's lonely, just like I am._

 

“Never say sorry.” He said, and then turned away from me to the door. I followed, unsure if my lack of breath was due to my wound or something more.

 

\---

 

“Where are we going?”

 

After we had left the infirmary, Jarvan hadn't spoken much. He was not cold towards me, but he was not warm and friendly like he had been earlier. I struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides as my wound screamed its displeasure.

 

“I have something for you.”

 

“You do?” I asked in surprise. This was the last thing I had expected.

 

He responded by stopping in front of large oak door. He pulled it open, not unkindly, and ushered me inside. It was a weapon's room of sorts, filled with blades that ranged from the size of my arm to no bigger than my foot. Hunched over a wooden table was a fair-haired boy, who looked up as we entered the room.

 

His eyes first went to Jarvan, and then fell upon me. I expected his eyes to flash with hatred and fear, but he broke into an easy smile. His eyes were alight with amusement, as if he and I were sharing a private joke. I smiled back hesitantly.

 

“So sleeping beauty awakes, or should I say—sleeping _dragon_?”

 

“How clever,” I retorted, with mock disdain. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

 

The boy laughed, brushing rebellious strands of blond hair out of his green eyes. “I did, actually.”

 

Jarvan cleared his throat, pointedly glaring at the boy. The boy ignored him, still focusing his attention on me. “I'm Ezreal, though I am known to many as _the Prodigal Explorer,”_ He bowed so low it was almost comical. “What might your name be?”

“Prodigal Explorer? You don't look very 'prodigal' to me.”

 

“Goodness, she's on to my secret,” Ezreal said in mock horror. “Now what am I going to do?”

 

“It's no secret, Ezreal,” Jarvan said, almost jokingly, though he sounded anything but. “Now if we could focus on the matter at hand instead of making a joke of everything?”

 

“Right,” Ezreal said, winking at me before turning back to the table. I tried to get an understanding of what lay on the table from my vantage point, but it looked only like two pieces of metal to me. Ezreal ran his hands tenderly over one of the pieces before picking it up with great care. Now that I had a better view, it appeared to be a sort of gauntlet shaped like a dragon's head.

 

“Behold! Found within an ancient temple in the Kumungu jungle, I present you with your new weapons.” Ezreal announced, beckoning me to join him at the table. 

 

I stepped forward, almost in a trance, toward the table where the gauntlets lay. They were sleek and shiny, and looked as if they had been newly crafted. The two gauntlet's pressed together formed a dragon's head—one gauntlet serving as the dragon's eyes and fangs, the other gauntlet serving as the chin and jaw. I tentatively reached out a hand, running my fingers over the smooth surface.

 

“This is... _for me_?” I asked in disbelief. I couldn't understand why Jarvan would want to give me something so rare and beautiful.

 

“The prince wanted you to wield something that would extend as a part of you. He asked me to find you something, and find you something I did. It wasn't easy, mind you, but here it is.”

 

I glanced up at Jarvan who was avoiding meeting my gaze. He was becoming more and more of a mystery.

 

“Thank you,” I said to both of them. “But...why?”

Jarvan finally met my gaze. “I would like to extend an invitation for you to...join the ranks of the Demacian army. I feel as if you would make a fine addition, and these weapons serve as a token of friendship. Even if you do not accept, they are still yours...but...”

 

He trailed off and gave me a sad smile.

 

I looked back a the gauntlets. I would be able to keep them either way. But what would I do if I did not accept his offer, what else was there for me to become in this world if not a monster? Could Jarvan offer an alternative to my solitude?

 

I put on the gauntlets, enjoying the way they felt attached to me. “I will accept your offer if you help me with something.”

 

“And what's that?” Jarvan asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

 

“We're going to slay a dragon.”

 

The gauntlets burst into flames. 

 


End file.
